The Consignments Shop
by Lego Land
Summary: A group of miscellanies stories from an assortment of fandom's: Buffy, Stargate, Harry Potter, Torchwood etc. If anyone would like to add to a piece, just ask so I can refrence your page.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Judgment Day

Author: A.W.

Rating: R

Summery: Harry exibits the importance of a well rounded education

Characters: Harry Potter

Disclaimer: I don't own the concept, the characters, or really anything

Judgment Day

History of Magic was not a topic Harry Potter found particularly interesting. In fact, the only reason the massive volume was even open was because the small boy had exhausted all other sources of entertainment within the two months he'd been relegated to his room. He'd even resorted to reading all five of his Potion manuals and writing a complete schedule for the next two years worth of DA. He was quite beyond 'desperate'.

Daily nightmares, the pain of his scar, and turbulent thoughts kept him from a restful, let alone peaceful, sleep. Therefore his seemingly perpetual state of being had progressed far beyond merely tired and grumpy. At random intervals, Harry alternated from imagining unique methods of mutilating Tommy and his little band of detritus feeders to simply leaving England's protection to the backstabbers, sniveling turncoats, and petty power mongers. Although he'd yet to make up his mind on which course of action he'd prefer, the longer his stay with the Dursley's the more it leaned toward the later.

As he read through the pathetic Ministry devised laws and often ridicules restrictions those in power placed on the Wizarding World within the last couple hundred years, Harry began to realize why the world of magic appeared so stagnant and underdeveloped compared to the rest of the world. It seemed as though everyone; from the Minister to members of the Wizangmont; purposely sought to keep the Wizarding World as far removed from the rest of society as possible. Their world had in fact changed very little in the last thousand years, encouraging the distrust and hatred of all things 'muggle'.

The ignorance was encouraged even in Hogwarts as Muggle Studies was little more than a joke and muggle-born children were given no introductions to allow them to fully integrate into the world of magic. It explained why History of Magic was taught by a mind-numbingly boring ghost with an interest in little besides Goblin Rebellions. It explained why everything in society was oriented toward Purebloods; from Ministry positions to Gringots accounts.

Many laws only pertained to citizens with 'impure blood', forcing those raised in the muggle world to comply with 'pure' standards or leave. There were multiple restrictions for those of less than half wizarding ancestry: some concerned employment while others regarded marriage and procreation. Why start a messy war in which precious purebloods could be harmed when those with 'dirty blood' could simply be encouraged to leave of their own accord?

Harry was shocked to discover that a 'pure' witch or wizard could not be held legally responsible for any actions taken against a 'mudblood'. In fact, the only reason the Ministry sought Voldemort fifteen years previously was for his crimes against purebloods. Had the Secret Keepers betrayal not killed James Potter, Sirius would not have been sent to Azkaban at all. Lily's murder and the death of countless muggle were actually of little consequence in wizarding society and only mentioned because of there relation to the true crime; the death of a pureblood.

As the small boy contemplated the injustice of this world he'd been forced into, an idea slowly coalesced within his mind. A concept so brilliantly perfect that no amount of bribery, lies, or deceit could talk their way free of the legal labyrinth. Doggedly searching the text upon his lap, Harry began jotting down laws and regulations that applied to dealings among those of 'pure' blood.

*

The book was very old. If random pieces of thick, musty parchment bound together by a stained animal hide could even be referred to as a book. The rough skin was worn thin at the edges and the strap tying the four inch flap closed had ripped in multiple areas. It smelled of blood, decay, and Merlin only knew what other assortment of peculiarities. However, it was not for appearances sake that Harry was diligently searching said book, but for the knowledge held within.

Just short of three months previously Harry Potter would not have been caught dead hidden away with his head buried in a book. In fact, those rare times he was discovered in a room laden with books, he had quite obviously plopped himself down at any old table with no intention of staying long. He most certainly would never be surrounded by scrolls and texts of all sizes with hand-written notes strewn amidst the mess. The Library was for people like Hermione who enjoyed every aspect of books in general, not someone who's longest read consisted of Quiditch Through the Ages.

On this rare Saturday night though, that's precisely where Harry was.

The moment Dumbledore had allowed Harry out of Privet Drive; the small boy had virtually locked himself in the Black library. It had taken weeks of searching through ancient books, scrolls, and pamphlets, but finally his hard work had paid off. In a book that surely predated Merlin, Harry found the answer to his problem: a way to rid the world of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, permanently.

*

"Mr. Potter, we understand that you were distraught after the death of your godfather and under Dumbledore's advisement, we will take that into consideration. However, the murder of more that two thousand individuals is a very serious crime; one that cannot simply be ignored due to emotional trauma." Amelia Bones stated with a harsh glare in Dumbledore's direction. "Can you please explain why you committed these crimes?"

"I didn't murder anyone."

Several members of the Wizingmont stared incredulously at the small boy, while others seemed outraged at the denial.

"Mr. Potter, do you deny casting the spell that resulted in the death of Minister Fudge and several Ministry employees?"

The child's brows furrowed briefly, "I didn't cast any spells; I would have been expelled."

"Mr. Potter!" Madame Jones began indignantly.

"Harry, I personally traced the magic to you." Dumbledore scolded the boy. "We know it was your magic that produced the wave of power that swept the English Isles five days ago."

"Well of course it was my magic."

"For Merlin's sake…"

"Mr…."

"Harry, what precisely did you do?"

"Oh, I guess I should start at the beginning." the unusually small boy sat forward eagerly. "Well, I found a bunch of stupid laws the Wizingmont made to protect purebloods from half-bloods and muggleborns while I was stuck at the Dursley's. So I got to thinking that there must be all kinds of old rules that had more to do with justice than blood. I found a ritual in the Black library in a really old book; _'The Judgment of Ahisma'_…"

"The judgment of what…?"

"What does _A… Aisma _mean?"

"Harry, what was the judgment of… what was it for?"

"It was originally used by the Bhraman priest _Hans_ more than five thousand years ago to judge accused criminals. The magic would weigh their sins, if they were found guilty, the ritual punished them. Only the innocent or those who had performed enough good deeds in their lives to outweigh the evil would escape."

"Mr. Potter, that was not your decision to make."

"'_I'_ didn't judge them." Harry stated slowly as though speaking to a fool. "The magic in the ritual found them guilty of their crimes."

"Are you aware of the full scope of what this 'ritual' has done?"

"Of course I am; while the Ministry put an innocent man in Azkaban for twelve years, allowed known Death Eaters free without retribution, and punishes werewolves and multiple other magical creatures on a daily bases for their mere existence, I used a completely legal ritual created for the sole purpose of ensuring that only those who had committed incredible acts of criminal intent would be punished for what they'd done."

"Those forced to commit crimes by the Imperius…" began a pompus Wizard.

"…Would not have been held accountable for the deeds of others; like Draco Malfoy who was held under Imperius last year. Just as those who made steps to atone for their crimes were not punished, otherwise Professor Snape would not be alive."

"Harry, a lot of people were effected by this ritual, including your Uncle."

"Then they must have done really horrible things."

"What gave you the right to even perform such a ritual?" snarled a rotund, walrus-like man at the end of the table.

"Originally I was going to use '_Castus Consilium_', but realized that stopping Voldemort wouldn't actually solve the problem. One of Voldemort's supporters would simply take over where he left off, and we would still be at war. The Ministry wasn't doing anything and Dumbledore's idea of resolution was some stupid prophesy made by a lunatic."

"What precisely is '_Castus Consilium_'?"

"An ancient form of legal action those of Wizarding society may take under extreme circumstances. The magical suit has not been utilized in more than a thousand years because of the strict conditions under which a petitioner must apply. Its last application was in 532 CE at which time Morgana Le'Fay cast the ritual after Merlin assisted Uther Pendragon in taking Britain's throne. It was through Merlin's actions that a child later known as King Arthur was forced upon an unwilling Queen by Pendragon. Many factors contributed to the inciting of the ritual; however the one detail which made it all possible was the 'theft of essence'. It is this crime which has now allowed Harry Potter to perform this nearly forgotten piece of magical judgment.

"At the end of his fourth year, Mr. Potter's blood was stolen to create another life. In doing so, the perpetrators of the crime; Tom Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort and a previously thought dead Peter Pettigrew; completed the final stage of requirements necessary within the confines of the spell. It is a very powerful ritual." Dumbledore explained to the crowd.

"And really complicated," Harry nodded his agreement. "I'm no good at potions and I didn't take Arithmancy or Ancient Runes. So I decided the Judgement was a much better solution to the problem."

*

As the sun rose above the horizon on September the first, citizens throughout the Wizarding World untied various newspapers from post owls. Most continued on about the business of preparing for work or starting breakfast fully intent on reading the paper at a later time. Others however, immediately opened them, eager to discover the latest happenings of their world.

In bright red print, 4 words were splashed across the page:

**Old Laws Force Action**

"_In a bold move, The-Boy-Who-Lived declared 'The Judgment of Ahisma' yesterday evening in his Godfather's London Home. For those not aware of the significance, the spell; or ritual as it is more accurately described; is an ancient form of trial._ _It was originally performed by the Bhraman priest Hans more than five thousand years ago to judge accused criminals. The magic weighed the sins of the accused, if they were morally corrupt, the magic would administer a suitable punishment. Only the innocent or those who had performed enough good to outweigh the bad would escape unscathed._

"_In doing so, it is therefore this journalist's great pleasure to announce the permanent death of Lord Voldemort…"_

The article continued on the third page; extolling the history of Tom Marvello Riddle, his unfortunate birth to a muggle father and disgraced Witch, and his rise to power in the wizarding world. Related articles announced the death of Minister Fudge and several prominent pureblood wizards.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Watchers At The Gate

Author: A.W.

Genre: Stagate SG-1/Angel the series

Rating: PG-13

Summery: What if the world of demons and vampires was not as far removed from that of the Goa'uld as one would think?

Disclaimer: You know the drill, don't own em, but wish I did. (at least Wes and Danny, ok and Major Davis)

**Watchers at the Gate**

Sunlight splashed through the trees, glistening brightly amidst miniscule dew drops. The scent of freshly baked bread drifted on the slight morning breeze as it wafted from the café's open doors. On either side of the two lane street, pedestrians meandered unconcerned down sidewalks, laughing and talking merrily.

The picture perfect Middle American town of Colorado Springs had become Wesley Wyndham-Pryce's new home shortly after he'd left LA. "Fighting the good fight" wasn't nearly as straightforward or good when you worked for an evil law firm. Gunn, Lorne, and Angel had compromised their morals within days of signing on. Fred had begun dating an evil scientist and Wes had killed his own Father. Granted the now diseased robot had merely been impersonating his Father, but at the time Wes unloaded all ten bullets of his 9mm clip into the man, he hadn't known that.

A few hours afterward, he'd handed Angel his resignation. It wasn't as though he gave up, his continued presence simply served no purpose; what with reference books that did all the work for you and lawyers with knowledge hardwired in their brains. An ex-Watcher, ex-demon hunter, and ex-Private Investigator had no place amidst hell beasts and lawyers.

These days, freelancing… unique abilities paid better anyway. Since the Council's demise, translators of obscure languages and researchers with mystical knowledge were in short supply. As an ex-Watcher and four year veteran of Angel Investigations, even the new Council sought his assistance on occasion. Besides, it was rather refreshing not living in the epicenter of demon activity.

As a sudden twinge of pain shot down the ex-Watchers spine, Wesley shifted uncomfortably in the café's wrought iron chair. Grimacing, he set aside his newspaper before reaching up to gently massage the back of his neck. It was an oddly tingling sensation, somewhat reminiscent of electric shock. Reluctantly giving up any thoughts of finishing his coffee and beagle, the slim man slowly stood. Fishing his wallet from the pocket of his faded jeans, he absently dropped a few bills on the table.

Wesley turned to leave the small bakery, briefly glancing across the street in the process. As his eyes momentarily met those of a balding stranger conversing with a younger woman, he flinched as the slight irritation grew to actual pain. The ex-Watcher swallowed audibly, barely forcing his gaze beyond the pedestrian as horrified realization dawned.

Although he'd never seen the man in his life nor felt the odd rushing tingle through his system, the ex-Watcher none the less instantly recognized the distinctive symptoms. From the moment he was old enough to comprehend the spoken word – before he could even speak or read – his Father had drilled into him the importance of a single goal. It was the only lesson that took precedence over language and demonology; that of recognizing and defeating a human's greatest enemy; the Goa'uld.

Every child born into a Watcher family, at the instant of birth, was magically warded. A wide variety of charms were utilized; some merely added simple protection spells, while others harnessed powerful forces to ensure their progeny could never be turned. Every single one however – no matter their important or standing within the Council – used the same ritual the moment air first touched a babe's lungs. Dubbed 'The Knowing', the incantation required tremendous power, hours of chanting, and multiple witches. Practiced for more than 10,000 years, it existed for the main purpose of warning every Watcher of the presence of a parasitic creature called Goa'uld. As a secondary advantage, it ensured no Watcher could ever be taken as a host.

As he passed a table on his way out of the bakery's gated patio, the slim man deftly palmed a small disposable container of table salt. He then slipped both his wallet and the salt into a coat pocket. Unobtrusively following the man's path from the corner of his eye, Wesley carefully withdrew his cell phone. As he flipped the small silver device open, he nonchalantly crossed the street. Giles' number was on speed dial, as was Angel's in case of emergency.

The moment he heard the tired tone of the elder man's voice, Wes breathed a phrase only ever practiced, "The waters are breached."

A chocking gasp was the initial response. "That's impossible!"

"I assure you, Rupert, I'm tailing one right now."

"Dear God!"

"I'll find out what I can," Wes murmured. Keeping a good distance before the man, he continued. "A description may be of little use, just in case however he's between 5'10 and 6', aged roughly 55 to 70, balding on top, and moderately good shape. He's probably former military judging on first appearance alone."

"Why don't you just keep an eye on him, let me send back-up."

"He's presently with a blond woman: between 30 and 40 years of age, short hair, blue eyes, equal in height, lean, broad shoulders, also probably military." Wes continued as though he hadn't heard.

Ahead, a large potted tree in the center of the sidewalk obscured the view beyond. An ambush could easily be staged form such a location without unwanted attention. He removed the salt then a small leather pouch from separate jacket pockets. Slipping between two buildings some 40 meters ahead of his target, the ex-Watcher quickly shed his suede coat, dropping it to the ground.

"Wes…"

"You know very well I can't, she's most likely his next host. If I haven't called back within the hour …" He left the rest unsaid. "Hold on a moment."

Pulling the phone away from his face, the ex-Watcher carefully set it on the ground. He opened the pouch and gently withdrew a small iridescent crystal. Placing it in the cent of the alley, Wesley began muttering an incantation beneath his breath.

"To see the truth,  
to know the way,  
I cast a spell of certainty."

As the words flowed from his lips, he lightly sprinkled a thin line of salt upon the ground. It stretched from wall to wall, outlining a perfect circle.

"By the power of three;  
I conjure thee,  
to give thy facts  
unto me."

At the completion of the circle, Wes twisted his left wrist, deftly catching the slim dagger as it shot from its projectile harness. He quickly stabbed the pad of an index finger, immediately drawing a drop of blood the surface. Three large drops of thick, crimson blood were then squeezed onto the salt. A bright flash of brilliant red briefly filled the alley, leaving both the crystal and the salt vibrantly dyed scarlet.

Moments later he plucked the crystal then the phone from the concrete. Wiping the blood from the knife on his jeans, he informed the elder Watcher of his completion of the ritual.

"Just… be careful," Giles whispered.

"Of course," Wes positioned himself at the mouth of the alley as he pulled a 9mm from his left shoulder holster. "Rupert… I have to go."

"Ye… yes, of course," he stuttered. "Good luck."

Without bothering to speak again, Wes flicked the phone shut and dropped it on his coat. He heard their voices speaking in low tones as they circled the massive tree just before the ally. Only seconds later, the pair passed the corner of the first building.

Slinking form the shadows, the slim man quickly brought the hilt of the dagger down on the host's neck, momentarily incapacitating the stunned man. He followed through with the motion, catching the knife in the collar of the targets coat and roughly dragging it down his arms. He used the host's tangled limbs to shove his unresisting body into the circle and against the far wall of the alley. Swiftly wedging the point of his blade into the base of the man's skull, Wes growled a sharp command.

"Remain still."

The women, who had initially continued walking, finally realized her companion's predicament only to find a pistol pointed in her direction.

"DAD!" the blond gasped.

The host immediately responded, reassuring the woman. "I'm alright, Sammy."

"Come all the way into the alley," Wes snapped the demand.

As the woman cautiously entered the dark shadows between the buildings, the ex-Watcher leaned into the host. He removed the blade from the man's neck and opening his hand slightly, brought the crystal up to dip in the miniscule bead of fluid forming where the dagger nicked the skin. Wes murmured the second half of the incantation before closing his fist once more and replacing the dagger at the juncture of the host's spine and skull.

"Who are you?" The woman challenged.

"Listen mister, I don't…"

"Why are you here?" Wes ignored the questions.

"I don't know what your…"

A trickle of blood slowly meandered its way down the host's neck. "At this angle, your head will instantly be severed, leaving the host injured but temporarily alive. Do not make me ask the question again."

Disregarding the woman's gasp, he kept his eyes firmly on the creature before him.

"Selmak, I am a Tok'ra," the voice changed, producing an oddly flanged quality. "It means…"

"I am fully aware of the meaning of the word. What is your purpose here?"

"We are visiting my host's daughter."

The ex-Watcher laughed bitterly. "Exchanging host's you mean."

"No," the blond yelped just as the parasite answered.

"No, we do not take hosts against their will. We are Tok'ra."

"Many Goa'uld have been against Ra, it makes little difference what you call yourselves." Although the crystal ensured no lie could pass the host's lips, his choice of words allowed him to evade the complete truth. Wes viciously rammed one knee into the back of the host's right thigh. "How did you get here?"

"The Stargate, I was invited," the creature gasped. "We are not merely against Ra, we fight all those who deem themselves gods."

"Moral Goa'uld," the lean man snickered. "Is that not an oxymoron? I know the gate is buried, now answer the question."

"Wait!" The woman took a step forward. Holding her hands up non-threateningly, she continued speaking. "The Stargate was found in Giza over sixty years ago. It was brought to Cheyenne Mt. where it was studied, until eight years ago we finally opened it."

"You opened it," the horrified gasp escaped his lips. "You broke the treaty?"

"What treaty?"

"The reason they left, you fool. Did you think it was buried because we didn't like the color?"

At the sound of the hateful snarl, the women took a step back. "W...we didn't know."

"There were warnings for a reason, you couldn't have missed them. Markers written in every dialect in existence at the time of the burial surrounded the coverstone." Wesley growled viciously, "They didn't stay and we wouldn't hunt them down. That was the treaty."

"Please, how could you know all this?"

"Did you think we would forget?" Directing his gaze back toward the self professed Tok'ra, Wes breathed. "Every generation knows the story. We all know how to recognize you."

The Goa'uld gasped softly. "It…it, no, it was a myth, just a story of the first world."

"We are no myth, beast, just as the Slayer is not a myth."

"Egeria taught all of us, her children, of the Slayers," Jacob murmured in awe. "We never truly believed though."

"Egeria;" Wes cocked his head to one side, a quizzical brow rising as he muttered. "Then the spell worked."

Stepping away from the pair, the ex-Watcher none the less continued questioning them. "How long have you been fighting the Goa'uld?"

"More than 2000 years." The host slowly turned. He carefully readjusted his coat before gently massaging the back of his neck.

"Obviously we've yet to be invaded or blown-up, so you can't be doing horridly," Wes directed his words to the woman. "How large of a threat are they?"

Clearly offended by the comment, she snapped "We've killed nearly fourteen, encouraged many Jaffa to rebel, and - as you can see - made allies with their enemies. By the way, just because they didn't occupy the planet, didn't mean they didn't steal entire towns of people on a regular basis."

Wes nodded absently. Although he wasn't sure what 'Jaffa' were, from the context and meaning of the word, he could make a fair guess. Squatting beside his jacket, he plucked his phone from the folds of cloth. The slim man flipped it open and pressed redial. As it began to ring, he pressed the speaker button.

"Wesley?" Giles voice instantly demanded.

The woman rushed to her father's side as Wes slipped his pistol back into its holster. Although they murmured quietly to one another – the woman seemed particularly incensed her father had not told her of the Slayer – they were none the less listening to the cell conversation.

"It appears Quentin's predecessors were equally as inept as he was; the gate has not only been found and opened, but in use for eight years."

"My Lord!"

"Thankfully, it would seem they broke the treaty long before we did."

"Bloody bastards!"

"Quit, the _'Colarium'_ apparently worked and the Americans have actually done something right for once."

"Egeria learned?" the man's shocked voice gasped.

"Not only learned, but taught others."

"Is she still alive?"

Wes glanced up at the pair standing across the alley from him. At the defeated shake of the host's head, the ex-Watcher sighed, "No, it appears not."

"The knowledge she must have possessed," Giles moaned. Bringing his emotions quickly under control, he took charge. "I can send you ten now, the others are needed to train the younger ones. I'll have them bring the contents of the Sanctum Vault; it should possess all the necessary weapons and information."

"I want Faith and only those without family."

"Wes…"

"Non-negotiable," Wes snarled. "We all know the legends; I won't put their families through the loss."

"Alright, they will be in the Springs within the week."

"Have Mrs. Rosenberg's coven perform "The Knowing" on all those you send."

"Wesley that could take…"

"I don't care if it takes them a year just to figure out how to pronounce the words, have it done."

"The torques…"

"Will be worn by those who do not have magic at their disposal," Wes interrupted the older man. "Giles, we can not take the risk of a Goa'uld removing the device. A Slayer would be unstoppable."

"Yes… yes, of course. I shall inform them." The head of the new Watchers Council sighed audibly. "I will ensure Faith is enchanted first and send her and the vault right away."

"That will be fine."

"Good luck, my friend."

Once more, Wes hung up without answering. For a moment he silently regarded the pair standing on the opposite side of the ally. Shaking his head slightly to dispel his discomfort at being in the presence of the Goa'uld, the ex-Watcher quickly snatched his coat from the concrete.

"Now, let's have a talk with your superiors, shall we?"

************************************

"What warnings?" a head shot up abruptly, revealing piercing blue eyes topped by dirty-blonde, tightly cropped hair. "I was only shown what was written on the coverstone."

Wesley glanced across the large rectangular briefing table to 'Sammy', the woman he'd met in an ally several hours previously. Bracketing her smaller frame were a graying commanding officer on the right and her father on the left. The ex-Watcher cocked a single brow over dark blue eyes.

"'We' opened the gate, Sammy?" he sneered, questioning her previous use of words.

The women briefly glanced down the table at the multiple people lining its sides. Several members of both the Jaffa rebellion and the Tok'ra Council had been summoned the moment 'Colonel' Sammy had reported the surprising turn of events. They'd all been forced to await the arrival of Washington's representative; thankfully Major Davis and Colonel Simmons had arrived in record time.

"It was a joint scientific effort," 'Sammy' snarled.

"I'm sure it was," Wes smirked. Leaning forward, elbows resting on the table, he answered the question. "When the Watchers buried the 'gate, it was encircled with megaliths. Each one had been carefully inscribed with a warning in a language spoken by the many people of earth to ensure it would never be opened again. Obviously someone disregarded the counsel."

Eyes widening in shock, the man with dirty blond hair swung his head around to stare at the officer beside 'Sammy'. "Th... that's why you took the bomb on the first mission," he breathed.

"Dr Jacks…"

"Daniel…"

"What else was found; were there addresses too, is that how they knew where to send Ernest?" 'Daniel's' distress was clearly evident by the inflection in his voice. "My God, all this time, I've been blaming myself for every death because 'I' opened Pandora's Box. How many of you knew what we were walking into?"

"I had my orders, Danny. That's all I was told," the officer gently assured the younger man. His gaze then fell on the women beside him. "Had I known more, we would have had a hell of a lot more firepower."

'Sammy' shifted nervously in her chair; eyes kept down rather than see the condemnation in every eye. "One of the stones had writing in some Indian language that looked like Ancient, a predecessor of Sanskrit some women found while doing research for a book."

"Senzar?" Daniel's soft voice interrupted.

"I don't remember," the women snapped in exasperation. "I was under orders too, you know."

"Is that why you were so insistent about going through the first time?"

"I had more right to go than anyone," the woman snarled. "It should have been 'me' on Abydos."

"Did it not take DanielJackson learning their language to discover the final glyph?" The large, dark skinned man questioned.

The General shrugged nonchalantly, "Not to mention the whole talking me out of nuking the planet thing."

"I would have found it!"

"Hate to be the one to remind you Carter," snidely commented the officer's unsympathetic voice. "…But it took Danny two weeks to solve what you couldn't in more than two years."

"It was my project!"

"Sam, it was Catherine's project funded by the government," Daniel corrected softly.

"Who, might I add, brought in Danny because no one else; including you; could figure it out."

"I would have," 'Sammy' insisted. "The Quantum Mirror proved that."

"Didn't you find it at all… odd, that off all the alternates the SGC have encountered, only the one with Daniel stood any chance against the Goa'uld."

Major 'Sammy' glared back furiously but remained quiet.

"Since we 'were' going, it might've been nice to know all the facts."

"The project was need-to-know and you didn't need to know about some 10,000 year old, obscure warning about 'snake demons'."

"' MaNinAga'" Wesley corrected her snide comment.

"My -what- egg?"

"A serpentine beast of ancient India, Jack," Daniel quickly jotted a side note on his transcription. "…who wrapped himself around a man and ate his soul."

"I thought the Ancient's language was close to Latin not… ah, Indian?" Washington's liaison wondered aloud.

"Oh… um, Latin and Vedic Sanskrit are considered Indo-European languages. Except rather than being a descendant of the elder language as French is derived from Latin, they come from the same mother tongue." Daniel glanced across the table, eyes gleaming in the artificial lights. "Proto-Indo-European or PIE is a reconstruction of a language supposedly spoken before any known invention of writing, thus it can only be speculated based on similar traits within sibling languages."

"So what you're saying is that…PIE might have been Ancient?" The liaison leaned forward in his seat.

"Um… more than likely PIE evolved from Ancient, but…"

"Okay kids; let's keep the PIE chat to the mess after the meeting, shall we?" 'Jack', as he'd been dubbed by Daniel, slouched further into his chair. "Now what was that about snakehead warnings?"

"Yes, of course," Wes managed to control his twitching lip in order to refrain from outright laughter. "Had you bothered to research the subject at all, the Council would have discovered your activities…"

"…And stopped us? We've done a lot of good out there."

"How much more could you have done with experienced forces and specialized weaponry?"

"Now just wait a damn minute," Jack growled. "I agree we should have been better informed, but we've been holding our own pretty darn well."

"What 'specialized' weaponry do you refer to?" the older Jaffa questioned.

Smiling tightly, Wes raised one slim, elegant hand before him. Palm up, he held the appendage above the table in plain sight of all those sitting around it. With a faint hiss, a small ball of writhing, blue flame coalesced above the tanned skin. Multiple gasps and even shouts were heard from amidst the gathered individuals.

"Often incorrectly referred to as a fairy-light, it is capable of passing through a Goa'uld shield. It incinerates flesh upon contact leaving naught remains to regenerate. This is but one, minor tool the Watchers have at their disposal."

"Is… is that magic?" Daniel murmured.

Wesley smiled a genuine twist of thin lips. "A small spell, paltry compared to truly powerful magic users."

"Your not?" gasped a flanged voice from the end of the table.

"Although I am capable of performing much more powerful magic's than this," Wes tossed the fireball into the air and watched it 'puff' out of existence. "I am in fact merely a researcher with some weaponry skills."

"So you're like the mojo version of Danny?" The gray-haired officer was the first to get over his shock.

"I highly doubt that." Wesley glanced down the table, giving the other man a slow perusal. The archeologist flushed shyly, lowering his eyes to the tabletop. ""His knowledge appears to cover a greater range of subjects."

"Just 'different' subjects, not more," Daniel's soft voice immediately remedied.

Wes bowed his head slightly in acceptance.

"Selmac has brought to our attention your apparent knowledge of our Mother, Egeria. What part did your people play in her transformation of thought?"

"Although several Goa'uld fell to the Slayer, there were so many – both supposed Gods and their servants – that the Watchers devised a way of … changing them. In a manor of speaking, the spell gave them a conscience. Once they had a bargaining chip, the Watchers forced the Goa'uld to retreat."

"Why didn't they just change them all?"

Wes smirked, a humorless quirk of thin lips. "They did not have the resources, despite claims to the contrary."

"They bluffed!" Jack howled. "All that nonsense about 'specialized weaponry' and they bluffed."

"In the 10,000 years since, other methods of battle have been devised. Back then however, I imagine they were desperate. The Goa'uld arrived on Earth only a few decades after the waters rose at the end of the last Ice Age. People, cities, and knowledge of unimaginable quantities were lost beneath the waves. Entire empires fell, taking with them millennia worth of accomplishments. Whole continents were submerged, civilizations were separated by miles of uncharted ocean, and countless died from starvation, disease, and raiders. There was no longer any leadership, organization, let alone defensible cities; they were little more than herd prime for the slaughter."

"Where once they had been powerful leaders, wizards, and scholars: the Watchers were forced to work in secret hiding amidst shadows and fighting on their own. They desperately feared what their knowledge could be used for were they discovered by the Goa'uld. They'd gone from hundreds of thousands to just a few hundred spread across seven devastated continents; their resources severely limited and genetic lines corrupted nearly beyond repair. Bluffing was the only option."

"Genetic lines," 'Sammy' questioned.

"The Watchers were the half-breed product of two separate species; Homo sapiens and what the Christian Bible refer to as Grigori."

"Fallen Angels," Daniel murmured in awe.

"Precisely; the Grigori were the evil beings of religious continuity that performed the ultimate sin of teaching mankind." Wesley's sarcastic comment was made with a sneer of contempt. "After the devastation wrought by the flood, genetic purity among their children became impossible."

"Scripture states they were punished by God, but what really happened to the Grigori?"

"Supposedly their brethren sentenced them to an eternity of servitude. It has been speculated that the Powers That Be are in fact those exiled beings."

"Are those 'Slayers' you mentioned… like the Watcher military?"

"Slayers," the ex-Watcher stated. "Are always young women; they possess superior strength, senses, coordination, and inherent fighting skills. Until last year, only one Slayer ever existed at one time. The magic which endowed each girl passed to the next upon the Slayer's death. This cycle of rebirth ensured that the world would never be without a protector."

"'Until last year'" 'Sammy's father repeated. "Does that mean there are no more?"

"On the contrary, there are now hundreds of Slayers across the world due to a very powerful spell. As every young woman previously with only the potential to become a Slayer enters puberty, each now acquires the same aspect of 'The Slayer'."

"Me'Ta!" one of the Tok'ra swore softly.

"Um… the Goa'uld have not actively occupied Earth for 10,000 year," Daniel glanced up from the notes he was diligently writing. "What precisely have the… Slayers been 'doing' all this time?"

"Beyond the occupation of the Goa'uld, how much pre-history are you aware of?"

"Well… uh… we know a highly advanced species known as the Ancients inhabited Earth several million years ago. Besides building the Stargate System, they seem to have been something of celestial anthropologist. They were incredibly advanced both technologically and spiritually. I'm afraid we really don't have a great deal of information on them or that time period."

"That you are aware of their existence assists greatly in the telling," Wesley bowed his head slightly forward as he mentally gathered the ancient tales together. "Many millions of years ago, your… Ancients fled the inevitable destruction of their extraordinarily archaic planetary system. Although they had acquired the means to travel between the stars via ship, their curiosity drove them to greater lengths of scientific discovery. Their endeavors eventually brought them to develop a means of linking Earth to other planets.

"This was a portal between layers of physical space. It required incredible amounts of power and was far less specific in regards to direction or distance as their later creation; the Stargate."

Wesley took a deep breath. Standing, he pushed back his chair and slowly walked across the room. Stopping before the large plate-glass window, the ex-Watcher once more began speaking.

"For a time, they eagerly explored the many realms they discovered, however the far more reliable Stargates soon began replacing portal use. Roughly eighteen million years ago, their final trip led them to a planet in a distant, very old galaxy on the edge of the known universe. Here they found the Old Ones."

His words became softer, as a hard, awed quality entered his voice. He quietly spoke of the beasts only ever seen through the eyes of primitive humans who lived far before Homo sapiens ever walked the earth. "Massive, vicious creatures of nightmares, these horrific monsters were incredibly intelligent and vastly more powerful than anything they'd previously encountered. Magic of more destructive beauty than a thousand suns rolled off them in waves, their magnificent size rivaled the very planets, and their cruelty was more legendary than all the conquers of history…"

Wes spun to face those at the table. "The Old Ones truly were gods," he breathed.

"They took control of the portals and warped their very nature, anchoring hundreds of planets to their own, creating a vast network of hell dimensions. On earth, the first Hellmouth was born from that ancient portal. This 'Mouth of Hell' is a permanent link between our world and theirs."

Turning away once more, he continued. "The Old Ones enslaved every species they encountered, absorbing their numbers, creating kingdoms of the conquered worlds. It was only a matter of time before Earth fell beneath their yoke.

"In an effort to halt the spread of the great armies, the Ancients devised an incredibly lethal virus they hoped would debilitate if not slaughter the beasts. Unfortunately, they underestimated the Old Ones. The virus was turned against its makers and the Vampyr Plague began decimating all those it touched."

"How can you know all this?"

Wes twisted back to face the group. "Have you not heard of Atlantis or Lumeria?"

"Of course, Atlantis was a city built by the Ancients in Antarctica."

"When the majority of the Ancients fled the earth, those few who remained created a fortified city on a continent bellow India, called Rutas. Here they engineered mankind, eventually even breeding with the evolved results 136,000 years ago. Their children were the first Watchers. Therefore, records of those ancient times have been passed down through generations of Watchers, just as knowledge of the Goa'uld has been kept."

The ex-Watcher came back to the table, silently slinking into his seat. "Over time an alliance was made between humans and some of the enslaved species which eventually brought about the demise of many of the Old Ones. The remainder fled earth, leaving the planet to humans and what mythology calls Demons."

"Demons," a tall, scowling dark-hair man scoffed. "You expect us to believe the world is populated by actual demons; like vampires and… gargoyles? What kind of morons do you take us for?"

"And you are…?" Wes tilted his head incredulously.

"Oh, damn, sorry about that," the gray-haired officer sarcastically berated himself. "Some General I am, not introducing the oh-so-friendly neighborhood NID to our guest. Mr. Wyndham-Pryce this is Colonel Frank Simmons of the National Security Department."

"The NID," Wes rolled the acronym slowly off his tongue. "I should think believing in such creatures would be a small step for someone of your profession. After all, was it not the NID funding the Initiative?"

The man sputtered briefly, incomprehensible sounds emanating from his mouth as he desperately sought a reply. The General however, exchanged inquisitive looks with Major Davis.

"The… um… Vampyr Plague you mentioned, is that the… cause of Vampires?"

Wesley's head snapped back to Daniel's inquisitive features. Nodding briefly, he confirmed. "As a matter of fact it is. The virus reroutes synaptic pathways, alters the musculature and internal organs on a genetic level, and strengthens bone structure. Once turned, a Vampire requires such a small amount of oxygen to survive, they seemingly do not breathe at all. Their bodies cells; barely exposed to the airs degenerative properties; possess a far greater life-span, thus allowing them virtual immortality. Waste is reprocessed as fuel giving them greater range of stamina.

"Week points in their re-engineered bodies however are the complete lack of melanin which makes them vulnerable to ultraviolet radiation and the intricate cellular make-up of their heart which incinerates upon oxygenation. Unfortunately, it also has the regrettable side effect of obliterating such pesky hindrances as morality and conscience"

Brows drawn together in confusion, Jack murmured, "Huh!"

"As myth relates, there is in fact no demon possession involved."

"How then do your people justify slaughtering their ill?"

"There is but one… treatment and I assure you, most believe it is worse than the disease. Those who know of it believe the host's soul is returned to the body, thereby freeing them of the demon's lust for blood and violence." Wes glared coldly at the broad-shouldered female Tok'ra, "The Council long ago realized the detrimental effects the truth would have on Slayers. A Vampire is better classified as psychotic; fore they lack any remorse or guilt, rather they simply do whatever pleases them.

"Unfortunately, many imagine demons are the source of all evil and human beings can do no wrong," Wesley glanced down the table at the NID operative. "…when in fact, demons have primarily remained a myth because humans are fully capable of horrific deeds. Hitler, Moa, and Stalin were not demons or Vampires; yet look at the events they shaped.

"We justify their extermination because we are adept at distinguishing the difference between darkness and pure evil," the ex-Watcher growled. "…and I assure you, a human without morals is far worse than any Goa'uld you will ever encounter."

"' The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.'"

Though as soft as an indrawn breath, the murmured quote sundered the briefing room's expanse as easily as a clap of thunder. As it had always been, Daniel's unique code of virtues would not allow him any delusion of man's perfection.

"You can't believe that," Sammy gasped.

"Euronda, the Trust, Conrad," glancing toward his fellow scientist, the young man sighed regrettably. "Do I really need to go on?"

"Bu… but they were…"

"Human, Sam. Human beings so convinced of their own righteousness they were willing to 'do'… anything, no matter the pain and suffering they caused. For Gods sake, Sam, our own Military punishes people for the 'crime' of loving someone they don't approve of. Manslaughter isn't in the constitution but those morons in congress want to make same-sex marriage illegal. People all over the world still judge others on the color of their skin or their belief in a religion." Rising from his chair abruptly, Daniel threw his arms up, wildly motioning as he spoke. "There's rape and child abuse, assault and murder, drug pushers and drunk drivers; we're worse than the few animals that eat their own young. So, yes Sam, I CAN believe that."

"But there are an equal number of…"

"Don't make me put you two in separate corners." Jack glanced around the table at the representatives from allies and Washington DC. Sighing tiredly, he waved a hand toward the door. "Lets take a break; maybe some food will calm us all down."

As people stood and slowly made their way out of the briefing room, Wes approached Daniel. "Dr. Jackson?"

"Um… Daniel, please," lips turning upward at the corners, the other man finished collecting his papers.

"I'd be greatly interested in anything you can tell me about our common enemy."

Eyes widened, Daniel glanced up to meet Wesley's eyes, "We could eat in my office, I keep everything in there."

"That would be wonderful," Wes turned, motioning vaguely toward the door. "Shall we?"


	3. Chapter 3

The Red King's Dream

Author: A.L. Witt

Genre: Harry Potter/Angel; the series

Rating: R

Summery: The thin line between reality and illusion becomes lost amidst the shadows of sorrow. What enticement does life offer when death's sweet siren song sounds?

Characters: Drusilla and Harry Potter

Notes: Takes place after HP Book 5 and Ats 5th season

Disclaimer: I don't own the concept, the characters, or really anything.

_"If that there King was to wake," added Tweedledum,_

_"You'd go out--bang!--just like a candle!...You know very well you're not real."_

_"I am real!" said Alice, and began to cry._

_"You won't make yourself a bit realler by crying," _

_Tweedledee remarked._

_"If I wasn't real," Alice said, "I shouldn't be able to cry."_

_"I hope you don't suppose those are real tears?" _

_Tweedledum interrupted in a tone of great contempt._

- Lewis Carroll

_Through the Looking Glass_

"Nasty snake smells all dead and dirty, like rotten fishes." Her faint voice little more than a lyrical murmur, the dark-haired women spoke to the seemingly empty room. "Let the glowing breath gobble Miss Edith all up so Princess couldn't hear the stars."

Her soft, mad giggles fluttered throughout the dungeon's shadowed depths, briefly engendering a small amount of life to the cell.

"Oh, but the smelly snake didn't know the twinkles would dance for mummy anyway. They sing such sweet songs; all about blood warming my tummy and tasty little ones all cold and still."

The crimson satin and black lace of her ancient gown rustled softly with each tremble of slender limbs brought about by childlike laughter. Magically strengthened, the chains binding her clinked and clanged as her lithe frame moved. Raven locks smoother than the finest silk cascaded over creamy, bared shoulders to glisten delicately against her slight neck. Although the frail beauty appeared harmless, she was in fact a creature of great power: a Master Vampire more than two hundred years old.

"And who do you talk to my dear Drusilla?" the hissed query interrupted any further ramblings of songs or blood.

"The moon hides away, like little secrets all dark and deep," crooned the Vampire. "All souls come out to play and drag princess right away."

A hissing chuckle like crackling parchment filled the dungeon. Voldemort's thin, snake-like body seemingly floated across the room. He stopped mere inches from the small, pale creature. Lifting one cloth encased arm, a single skeletal finger passed the black hem of his thick robe. The index finger brushed the Vampire's collarbone; a gently, almost intimate pressure. Leaning in closely to the petite woman's frame, he breathed a soft question against her flesh.

"You don't actually believe your going to be freed, do you my dear?"

His trailing digit had crossed the breath of her shoulders, drawing a sluggish trickle of blood as his sharp nail caressed the virtually translucent skin. It slowly meandered downward, slipping within the crevasse of her still bosom. The resurrected Wizard drew back, thin lips curving slightly upward as he smirked coldly.

"All around the Flutterby bush, the Pixy chased the Serpent," unfazed, she sang the soft melody to the tune of a children's nursery rhyme. "The Serpent thought it was all in fun, Pop! Goes the Serpent."

"Ah my dear, I'd think you would have had enough of these games by now," Voldemort sighed in mock resignation. "You know how much I do detest having to resort to violence."

"The puzzled Serpent isn't a riddler," Drusilla giggled, the play on words seemingly tickling her fancy. "But then, he isn't a 'true' Serpent either; nothing but a dirty, lying fishy."

Snarling viciously, Voldemort's clawed hand brutally grasped the Vampire's jaw. The sharp nails sunk into pail flesh, as the Dark Lord hissed in her face.

"You will speak only to answer my questions, nothing more, is that understood?"

Had her hands been free, she might very well have been clapping gleefully. Her dark chocolate eyes smoldered brilliantly, dancing with merriment. Chained and tortured, the Vampire seemingly possessed unfathomed reserves of strength, for after months of captivity, she still hadn't broken.

"My sweet sees the answers," she continued, ignoring the obvious threat in his menacing words. "All swirling flashes in pretty green pixies."

The Dark Lord backhanded Drusilla. As blood welled upon her broken lip, a feral glow consumed Voldemort's crimson eyes.

"Where is your 'sweet' now?" he smirked coldly.

"Smelly fishy doesn't like my sweet," she moaned, chill lips barely parting. "Tried to gobble him all up, like Miss Edith he did, make the little sparkles go all dark and dreary."

"'Potter'! Your 'sweet' is Potter?" he snickered maliciously. "Oh by all means, if he wants to come to the rescue, he's more than welcome."

Without another word, the 'man' glided from the cell as silently as he'd entered. Once the iron door closed behind him, Drusilla raised her head.

"Smelly fishy," the Vampire sniggered. "Never learn. Come my sweet, invited you in he did."

"_I could be bounded in a nut shell_

_And count myself king of infinite space,_

_Were it not that I have bad dreams."_

William Shakespeare

For the first time since he'd begun having the visions, over a year previously, Harry did not wake when Voldemort's anger was spent. Instead he remained non-corporeal; observing the dungeon even after the Dark Lord left the room.

Every night for the past two months, Harry had been forced to observe every meeting the evil Wizard released his anger. He'd witnessed every brutal attack wrought upon countless muggles, Wizards, and Witches. Every torture session - horrific violations of mind and body - on both Death Eaters and prisoners were observed against his will.

Over time, the small boy had come to realize that his mind would never be free of Voldemort's influence. No amount of Occlimency would separate them for with the curse that heralded his ruin, the Dark Lord entrenched himself within Harry's infant mind. Untouched by a lifetime of experiences, the child's magic simply incorporated the new conduit with establishing pathways.

Dumbledore could preach endlessly of the benefits of occludeing ones mind, it would make little difference to Harry's patchwork mind.

"…Come my sweet, invited you in he did."

Upon hearing the women's softly spoken words, the small boy's ghostly essence drew closer until he was a mere breath away from the Vampire. Smiling gently, the creature let her head fall back, swiftly morphing her features. Golden eyes gleaming brightly from beneath the pronounced brow ridges of her vampric-visage, she whispered with complete certainty, "We invite you within us."

Even after his last encounter with Ancient Magic, Voldemort still did not comprehend its subtlety, power, or terrible beauty. Although nowhere near the strength of an emotional response such as 'love', an 'invitation' none the less held great significance. As with a 'true name' it allowed possibilities where once there had been none. Some could use an invitation to gain power over another; whether a creature of demonic descent utilizing such a welcome to enter a home or one familiar with the old ways taking advantage of negligent words. Even Harry knew one did not foolishly nor blindly offer invitations.

The child smirked grimly; Tommy may not have understood nor cared about such trivial things, however Harry was far less foolish. He would not put his complete trust in anything but himself. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.

His voice little more than an eerie hum, the apparition set boundaries upon the acceptance of Drusilla's summons:

"As my soul leaves its outer shell,

A berth of life and warmth to well,

For the purpose of a brief spell,

I offer Drusilla's Vampri a place to dwell.

May we remain so dispelled,

Only until this contract is fulfilled."

With the finale word, the pair merged into one being as Harry's wraithlike form entered the Vampires animated corpse. A flash of brilliant white light erupted, engulfing the dingy cell.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: International Cooperation

Author: A.W.

Genre: Stagate SG-1/Angel the series

Rating: PG-13

Summery: What if the Russian's aren't the only ones who want a little Stargate action?

Disclaimer: You know the drill, don't own em, but wish I did. (at least Wes and Danny, ok and Major Davis)

**International Cooperation**

"In all honesty Mrs. Rosenberg, what I really need is more people like Daniel; speaks more old-ass languages than I got fingers and toes, pretty handy with a gun, and doesn't scream like a girl, no offence." One finger absently tapping the file folder on the desk before him, General O'Neil continued speaking. "Don't get me wrong, I'm as much for a bunch of Goa'uld-butt kickers as the next guy, but we already got enough enemies out there without pissing of more people because we can't understand them."

"Alright, um… did you want ANY '_Slayers'_?" Willow stuttered.

The grey haired guy waved one hand nonchalantly. "Sure, I can put a couple in the gate room. Look, until we know they either can't be taken as hosts or we have a more reliable method extracting the snakes, I can't risk putting them on active duty."

Eyes wide in unfeigned shock, the young Wiccan slowly nodded. She crossed out '_20 Experienced Fighters'_ on her notepad and quickly wrote '_10 Glorified Guards'_.

"I… I'll have the Council look into it. I'm sure we have… um… someone with those skills."

"Great! Now see, why can't the Russian's be as friendly as good old England?" Grinning happily, the General looked to the man sitting beside her. "Well, was there anything else, Major?"

The tall, stoic man who'd escorted Willow to the SGC, Major Davis, nodded his head once. "Yes sir, Colonel Carter requested someone with a scientific background. She specified someone with field experience or at the very least… common sense."

"Ah yes, good old Folgers."

"Felger, sir."

"Right. So, if you got any science-types, we'll take them too."

"O-Ok!" Glancing down at her notes, Willow nervously chewed on her pencil eraser. "You read our WHOLE file, General O'Neil?"

"Skimmed it, why?"

"Well, you don't need '_anything_' else we offer?"

"Am I missing something, Major?" The General questioned the younger guy.

"I believe she is referring to the… witches, sir."

"Oh, the Mojo! Yeah well, Anise wanted one to study, but since they won't let us have any toys…" He let the sentence hang before chuckling softly. "Yeah, about that, Danny brought up a good point. None of us, the SGC, Tok'ra, or the Jaffa have come across magic off-world. So, we figure our best bet is to take a witch to the Alpha Site to see if it even works on other planets."

"I see. When would the best time be for this test?"

"Oh, my secretary will know the next scheduled trip, you can see him about it on your way out."

"Sir, Dan… Dr. Jackson had a small request as well."

"No, no let me guess. Could it have been… books?" The older of the two men asked sarcastically.

"Yes, sir. Specifically historical accounts, important events, previously unknown mythology… well anything really would due."

"Yeah, lots of books," the General concluded. "We'd be grateful."

"Twenty languages?" Removing his glasses, Giles began cleaning them for the third time in the past hour alone.

"Unless he's missing some toes, he meant over twenty."

'Oh my, '_I_' only speak seventeen." The Watcher muttered. "Really, did they even read the file? Our most well trained fighters are _Slayers_ not scholars and very few Watchers have much field experience."

"Not to mention the whole screaming like a girl thing, do they realize the Council is British?"

"Xander!" Willow snapped.

Giles simply growled under his breath, "Scientists and Linguists, the nerve of that man."

"He's just be cautious, Giles. Imagine if one of those snakes grabbed a Slayer for it's next host. It would be unstoppable."

"Why don't you call Wes?" The brunet Slayer negligently swung her legs back and forth from her place on the high, wooden stool. Taking a massive bite from her apple, Faith continued. "He knows like a bazillion languages and he's got those wicked cool pistols."

"Um, screaming like a girl ring any bells?"

Scowling at the one-eyed man, Willow shook her head. "He's not a part of the Council."

"Come on, I tortured him for hours and he didn't even whimper. Damn good with a sword too."

"Well… it could solve both problems." Willow glanced thoughtfully at the oldest member of the group at the table. "Fred is a physicist; we could mention it to them."

For the fourth time during the conversation, Giles began cleaning his glasses. "I'm sure we'll find someone. There are quit a few very qualified people among the remaining Watchers. Some of the new recruits might have surprising skills as well."

"Oh come on, G. I bet Wes would love it."

"Yeah, he could bore the universe on a whole new… OW!" howled the young man. He wiggled in his seat, desperately trying to relieve the strain of the magical wedgy the Witch had delivered. "I was joking, Willow."

The redhead bounced off the stool and headed for the door. "I'll call him now."

"NO!" The Watcher snapped before he could stop himself. "I… I mean…"

As all eyes turned toward him, Giles began to remove his glasses once more, only to have them snatched from his hand. Guiltily his eyes darted from the levitating frames to the Witch suspending them.

"Explain!"

He swallowed audibly before clearing his throat to speak. "You see, after the Los Angeles group began working for Wolfram and Hart, we felt their allegiance was no longer reliable. Therefore, we…"

"Who is '_we_'?"

"Robin and I," the Watcher whispered.

"Without consulting the rest of the council?" Willow growled. "Continue."

Giles flinched at the command. He desperately hopped he was merely imaging the darkening of her hair. "We sent an… emissary to… to check on them. It was then decided not to involve ourselves with them any longer."

"An emissary, don't you mean a 'spy' G-Man?" Xander wondered. Sure, he didn't much like Dead-boy or Weasel, but Cordy was still there. "It wasn't any of us, so who'd you send?"

"Andrew."

"I'm sorry, you were whispering, can you repeat that?"

Giles slowly raised his eyes from his clenched hands. "I sent Andrew."

"You sent '_Andrew_', formerly evil Andrew?" Xander snapped. "The Andrew Anya DIED for?"

"We made what we thought was the best decision at the time."

"Yeah, because sending someone who might be able to tell if Wes and the others were different would just be stupid."

"Faith, please" the Watcher scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. "With Cordilia dead and Spike returned."

"Hey, Wait!"

"WHAT!"

"That's not possible."

"… We could arrive at little other conclusion." He finished over their shouted exclamations. He was quit sure they'd made the right decision.

"So, what, are they ALL dead now? Is that why we can't call them, they asked for help you refused to give, so now their dead?"

"I'm sure they're fine."

"But you don't know? So what did they want that was '_soooo_' horrible?"

"Well, you see…"

"Or did you even bother to find out?" Willow interrupted. "How about we call right now, hum?"

"And so help me G, if '_my_' Watcher's dead, you better start looking for a new Slayer."

Willow plucked the phone from the wall and hurriedly dialed the former Watchers home number. After several rings, the phone was finally picked up.

"Beelzebub's house of pleasure, how may we serve your needs?" The question was asked with a decidedly drunken giggle.

"Um… Wesley, its Willow."

"Ah, if it isn't my favoritest little witchy."

"We… I was just calling to see how everyone is," she glanced nervously at the others in the room.

"Oh, we're all just…" a snort interrupted. "Shiny, my new friend and I were just… talking."

"Fiends are nice, Wes. Um, so which friend are you talking to?"

A slightly manic, drunken giggle floated from the phones speaker. "Why, Fred of course."

"Oh, that's great. Think I can talk to her, Wes?"

"Sure, I needed another drink anyway. I'll put you on speaker so you can have a nice, long chat."

"Um ok." There was a slight pause as she looked at the others in concern. "Hi Fred, its Willow."

"You are the '_Human_' witch my Guide attempted to utilize in order to preserve the shell's pathetic existence."

"Excuse me?" Willow blinked in confusion. "Fred?"

"Winfred Burkle no longer exists."

"T-then who are you?"

"Before your kind swarmed this pitiful planet, I was known as the God-King Illyria."

"Y-You're a Demon?"

"I am an Old One, not some half-breed spawn as currently infest my world."

"Then where '_is_' Fred?"

"Her organs were liquefied, her essence fragmented, and her flesh hardened to form a shell. What little remains of the '_Fred_' persona is now mixed with my own."


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Long Live… the Hunter?

Author: Amanda

Fandom's: Merlin, Supernatural, and Harry Potter crossover

Rating: R

Summary: The Once and Future King was prophesized to awaken in a time of greatest need. Luckily for the world, mankind's time of greatest need just happens to be Lucifer breaking out of Hell. Unfortunately, Dean isn't exactly King material.

Disclaimer: I don't even own the computer I'm typing on. Don't bother suing.

It took nearly a week to travel the short distance between the church of Lucifer's rising and Chuck's house. Dean and his brother drove down streets clogged by abandoned cars, roads with bodies torn to shreds left to rot, and entire towns infested with demons. They collected what food and supplies they could when they felt it was safe. Sometimes they got lucky, other times no amount of luck in the world would have been enough. The world had latterly gone to hell.

When they finally arrived at Chuck's house, the last thing either expected to find was their Angel arguing with a gangly guy sporting a shiny sword. Dark hair too long to pass for well kept hung over his pale ears and elfin frame sporting clothing baggy enough to hold any manner of weaponry merged to produce an oddly boyish appearance. The voice however was in no way naive or youthful enough to be that of a child.

"You and all your little pals thought screwing with humanity would fix your perfect little world after you abandoned it for two freaking centuries. What the hell did you think was going to happen with no directions and no answers?"

"They had rules…"

"Corrupted by the very…"

"What the hell is going on here?" Dean interrupted the pair. Chuck was nowhere in sight and the place was a mess of broken furniture and singed belongings.

"Yes, Castiel, why don't you tell your '_charge_' what's going on."

The Angel sighed softly, "It doesn't have to be this way."

"Oh, it definitely has to be this way." The dark haired man growled viciously. "You LET Arthur go to Hell!"

"Once the deal was made…"

The other man laughed; a harsh, rusty sound; "There wouldn't have been a deal to make if your kind hadn't let Azazel out of Hell in the first place."

"I had my orders."

"And look where that got you?"

"Hey," Dean hollered. "That's enough."

"What are you talking about?" Sam spoke softly from where he stood beside the open door.

"Tell them, Castiel." The stranger barked. "Tell them how your kind created a false prophesy to have me slaughtered in my crib before I could gain my memories. Tell them how NONE of this would have happened if I'd been at his side as was destined. Tell them how your kind allowed countless children to be corrupted by demons so that 66 Seals could be shattered. Tell them that you righteous, almighty Angels are the makers of Armageddon."

"I wasn't privy to their plans, Merlin. I merely followed orders."

"Orders." '_Merlin_' snarled. "Didn't you wonder, for one moment, why your orders went against everything your _God_ preached?"

"We do not question the word of God."

"Exactly my point, you moron; you knew _God's _will, yet when ordered to break it by some random Angel you just did it without question.

Castiel staggered back a step, eyes widened in shock. He shook his head in denial, desperately refuting the evidence before him.

"Now are you finally beginning to wake up?" snapped the dark haired man. "You've been played. Somebody is fucking with your head."

"It's not possible, who would dare?" the Angel whispered.

"Seeing as how your _God_ isn't the only one up there, I'd find out who else is playing the field."

Castiel disappeared without a word, leaving the remaining three occupants of the room staring at one another.

"So what the hell could some puny guy with a flashy sword do to stop all this?"

"I could help you find your destiny of course, Arthur."


End file.
